


The Housekeeper

by baroque_mongoose



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 04:19:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2637815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baroque_mongoose/pseuds/baroque_mongoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harriet Bajpai needs a housekeeper, but she has some rather unusual and specialised requirements.  Fortunately, her local domestic staff agency has exactly the right person.</p>
<p>Well, Harriet didn't specify that her new housekeeper had to be human, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Housekeeper

**Author's Note:**

> At last! This is the first Harriet story to be set entirely in my own universe rather than the Girl Genius one; it's taken as long as this to branch her off. As you see, her Uncle Ardsley is still well and truly around, and I'd like to thank the Foglios publicly for allowing me to use him under the condition that I don't put anything about him in the original works which clearly identifies him as their character. (The way they put it was that I was welcome to file his serial numbers off; I assure you, I was very gentle and he said it didn't hurt at all.) That was part of my motivation for having him end up with a peerage. If he's Lord Heversham, nobody ever need know his original surname.
> 
> This work also appears as a free introductory story on Harriet's website (and, before you ask, of course "C de Vere Maybury" is a pen name; if you're going to write steampunk, you may as well go the whole hog and pick yourself a pen name that fits with the genre). Those who are interested in her further career may like to make a note of it: http://steampunk-harriet.weebly.com/.

Mrs King's Domestic Staff Agency was tucked away down one of Kendal's numerous yards, to give them their usual name; and Harriet Bajpai had lived there for long enough now to think of them as “yards” automatically, rather than alleys or anything else. She was by trade a mechanical engineer, but as time had gone on she had found herself building things less for profit and more for pleasure, since her husband Pradhi was doing increasingly well as a solicitor.

So now they were at the stage where they had a house full of mechanical servants, and could rather easily afford to pay someone to take charge of them.

She opened the sober black-painted door with its neat brass plaque. A little bell rang above it, somewhat feebly. That's not much use, Harriet thought. What they really need here is a device to make the bell ring in the office itself, which would be very easy to arrange, and... oh yes, and a baffle to keep out the draughts, if they can't run to a new door. Dear, oh dear. There's a gap of nearly an inch under the hinged side.

The office was up a narrow, twisting flight of stairs, and the door to it from the landing stood open. Harriet walked in. A faded lady of uncertain years, presumably Mrs King, sat behind a well-polished but very old wooden desk; behind her, a nine-paned window looked out towards the back of another row of weathered stone buildings, and on the near side to the desk there was a large filing cabinet.

“Ah, good afternoon, madam,” she fluted, in a tiny soprano. “How may I help? Please, take a seat.”

Harriet settled herself comfortably in the chair indicated. “Yes – good afternoon. I'm looking for a housekeeper.”

Mrs King brightened immediately. “Then you have come to exactly the right place, madam. We have a wide choice available.”

Harriet wondered about that “we”, but said nothing. “Good,” she replied instead, “because I have some very specific requirements. First of all, I'm looking for intelligence; and secondly, I want someone who doesn't regard something like this as a mysterious and potentially dangerous implement which is best left to the men.” She produced a spanner from one of her numerous pockets.

“Ah,” said Mrs King cautiously. Harriet knew the look on her face very well, since she had seen it before many times on a wide variety of people. It roughly translated as “I should have expected something like this when I saw you walk in here wearing trousers.”

“Well?” said Harriet cheerfully. “Can you help?”

“Ah... well, I'm not often asked for a housekeeper who is familiar with spanners,” Mrs King hedged. “However... there is Aurilla.” She spoke the name a little doubtfully. “There's no question but that she is highly intelligent.”

“Aurilla?” asked Harriet. “That's a little informal, Mrs King. Does she not have another name?”

“In fact, no, madam. She is a Felid.”

“Really?” Harriet was immediately interested. “And she is not off at the war?”

“Invalided out, madam,” Mrs King explained, avoiding her gaze.

Harriet had never actually met any member of the Soldier Races, but she had heard enough about them to know what that was likely to mean. The Felids were known to be, on average, the most intelligent among them, but also the most highly strung. A Felid who had been invalided out of the armed forces but was still fit to work as a housekeeper... well. That, almost certainly, would be some kind of mental problem.

Harriet had a lot of sympathy for mental problems. She had a favourite uncle who had been fighting off suicidal tendencies for pretty much half his life now. He had still done exceedingly well; so well, in fact, that he was now the first Earl of Heversham, to his own lasting astonishment. And if Uncle Ardsley's personal mental demons had not been able to prevent him from being an outstanding diplomat, then there was no _prima facie_ reason why this Aurilla's demons should prevent her from being a good housekeeper.

“I see,” said Harriet. “In that case, I should like to interview her, please. I'll give you my address. When can you send her round?”

“Would tomorrow morning be convenient?” asked Mrs King.

“Certainly it would. Does she live in Kendal itself, or outside?”

“In Kendal, but... may I ask why you enquire?”

“Because if she had to come in from outside, I'd have said eleven to allow for any problems with transport,” Harriet explained. “As it is, can we say ten?”

“Yes, madam, we can certainly say ten,” agreed Mrs King quickly. “Now, if you don't mind, we do have a few forms to fill in...”

I expected “we” would, thought Harriet. Still, with luck I won't have to do this again.

At five to ten the following morning, the little bell jangled gently next to Harriet's favourite chair. She picked up the image box from the table at her elbow, opened its neat brass clasp, and checked in it to see who was at the door; then she sent Donald off to open it. Donald, of course, was mechanical, but he was really only a concession to visitors. Opening the door remotely tended to alarm people. They needed to see someone there to open it for them, even if it was only Donald.

She continued to look thoughtfully into the image box. Aurilla's initial reaction to Donald would be a good initial assessment.

No surprise. No note of caution. Good. Naturally Aurilla would have been used to working with mechs in the military, but if one of them had been the cause of whatever problems she had, it might be best not to put her in charge of a whole house full. Harriet snapped the image box shut and fastened the clasp.

Donald glided into the parlour on his little wheels, with Aurilla following behind. Now Harriet could see her very clearly. She was of human height, but her cat antecedents were plain from the shape of her face and the way she moved. Her figure, also, though walking comfortably upright, was visibly not human. She had no obvious breasts, for a start, although Harriet knew there would be six nipples somewhere under her plain grey blouse. Possibly there was also a tail under the black skirt, although that was not a matter of course; they could be a hazard in the military, and some members of the Soldier Races chose to have them removed for that reason.

On the other hand, it was a skirt she was wearing and not trousers, so Harriet privately decided that, if she were the type to bet, she would put money on the tail.

“Ah, you must be Aurilla,” she said pleasantly. “Good morning. Please, sit down.”

“Thank you, Mrs Bajpai,” said Aurilla politely, taking a seat. Her voice, coming as it did from an artificially constructed voice box, was strange, but not unpleasant; what was more, she had not hesitated for a moment over the surname, and that was very much a point in her favour. A great many people struggled with it, and, in particular, the milkman had apparently given up on it altogether and now addressed Harriet courteously but quite erroneously as “Mrs Rajah”.

“You were in the military, I understand,” said Harriet. “Do you have a rank?”

“Yes, madam. I am an Air Captain.”

Present tense, thought Harriet. Honourable discharge. Good. “And you were invalided out?”

“Yes, madam.” Aurilla regarded her thoughtfully with her strange golden eyes. “I am mad.”

“That is a rather blunt way of putting it, Captain,” said Harriet.

“Oh, I am not mad all the time. But it is as well that you should know, madam.”

“Your honesty is most commendable, Captain, but if I may venture to say so, it will not get you a job with most people,” Harriet replied. “Most people will shy away from any form of insanity, even though you know and I know that it takes many different forms and they are not all the same.”

Aurilla suddenly smiled, showing a row of disturbingly non-human teeth; nevertheless, there was warmth in her eyes. “You have just proved that you are not most people, madam,” she said. “There is, if I may use the hackneyed old phrase, method in my madness. I do not wish to work for someone who is afraid of me because I am who and what I am. That is why I tell them from the start. It saves much pain and trouble on both sides.”

Harriet nodded. “Ah, that I can understand. Well, then, Captain, may I ask you to explain what form your madness takes? I can assure you I see no sign of it at this moment.”

“You will not, madam, for I am very well today. But often I have sudden memories of battle, as vivid as though I were still in the midst of the fight; and they leave me incapable for a while. I cannot muster the strength of will to do tasks which are normally simple.” She paused. “And, worse, I know it is a form of madness, for part of my mind is still sane and knows that I can normally do these things; yet it is not strong enough to take charge.”

Harriet gave her a look full of sympathy. “I know too well what war can do to people. We can work around that limitation, have no fear about that. Are you used to working with mechs?”

“Yes, madam,” said Aurilla promptly. “I used to command many of them, and I can do simple repairs.”

“Excellent!” said Harriet. “You will not need to do anything more than that, for I am a mechanical engineer myself. I built all the mechs you see here.”

Aurilla's eyes gleamed. “Really? You are gifted.”

Harriet smiled. “I have been tinkering with machinery since I was very young. I assure you, most of this is the result of long practice. But you have the job, Captain Aurilla; you are exactly the right person. I ask only one thing of you. When your madness, as you call it, is on you – I believe there are better words for it, but we will stay with that one for the moment – I would like you to tell me. Do not struggle. There will never be anything you have to do so urgently that it cannot wait until you are yourself again, or be done by someone else.”

Aurilla bowed her head. “Thank you, madam. I promise you I will.”

“Now, this will be a live-in position, as I believe Mrs King explained,” Harriet continued briskly. “I assume you're in lodgings at the moment. If you would like to start at once, I will settle the notice with your landlord and you can move in straight away; otherwise, we can make whatever other arrangements may be necessary, but I should really like to have you here by Monday if at all possible. I seem to be spending half my time ordering mechs about individually.”

“I'd be very happy to start at once, madam,” said Aurilla joyfully.

“Good! Then I need to go and have a little talk with your landlord. Please point me in his or her direction, and then go and fetch your things.”

It took a little while to sort that out, although in the meantime Harriet did manage to see Captain Aurilla's lodgings, which were frankly wretched. I know they're tough, she thought angrily, but I'm still surprised she hasn't ended up with pneumonia. She served her country in the war and came back just as damaged as someone who lost a limb, and they cared so little about her that she had to live in that hole?

Well. Not any more, at least. Now she can have a decent bedroom and her own little sitting room. Probably still less than she really deserves, but it's what we can give her, and it's a great deal better than this.

They arrived back in time for lunch, and Harriet was a little surprised to find her uncle sitting in the parlour waiting for them. Since he lived only a few miles away, he did turn up from time to time, and Donald had standing instructions to let him in; nonetheless, she had seen him only the previous week.

“Why, hallo, uncle,” she said. “I wasn't expecting you, but I'm glad to see you.”

He stood up to greet her, smiling. “Well, I thought I'd surprise you, since I'm in town unexpectedly,” he said. “I had to go to the tailor. There was a little accident involving my best trousers and Alice's box of watercolours. You see, the cat...” He broke off in confusion, looking at Aurilla. “Oh dear. I'm terribly sorry.”

“No, no, sir, it is not a problem,” Aurilla assured him. “We are not sensitive or embarrassed about cats. They are our little brothers and sisters, but they are not like us, and we know sometimes they do things such as causing accidents with watercolours.”

“This is Captain Aurilla, our new housekeeper,” said Harriet. “Captain Aurilla, this is my Uncle Ardsley. Lord Heversham.”

Aurilla's eyes opened very wide. “You are Lord Heversham? The Ambassador?”

“Er... yes. Yes, I am. But I'm on recall for the duration of the war, so, you see, I'm here at the moment.”

Aurilla snapped into a smart military salute. “My lord! It is an honour to meet you.”

Lord Heversham looked a little bewildered, but he collected himself sufficiently to say, “At ease, Captain.”

“Ahhh,” said Harriet, a slow smile spreading across her face. “You've... got a lot of good friends on the Continent, haven't you, uncle?”

“Indeed I have, but... I wouldn't have thought...” he said.

“Aren't some of your best friends still rank-and-file soldiers? Not that you'd have thought of them as such at the time, but that's what they basically are, yes?”

The penny dropped. “Ah,” he said. “And... yes, exactly the kind of rank-and-file soldiers who might well be inclined to fraternise with our Soldier Races. I believe I see now.”

Harriet grinned. “Get used to it, uncle. I think you're now a legend among the troops.”

“Oh dear.” He ran a hand through his hair, which was mostly jet black, but now visibly greying at the temples. “I can assure you, Captain, that in that case I am likely to be a bitter disappointment to you, and I apologise for that in advance. I have never been a soldier myself, but I have certainly heard soldiers' stories in plenty.”

“You won't be a disappointment at all, uncle,” replied Harriet with a smile, “because if Captain Aurilla gets to know you for more than five minutes, she'll go away with a whole lot of new stories which are all perfectly true.” She took a comb out of her pocket and unceremoniously straightened his hair for him. “Now, Captain, your first task is to go to the kitchen and sort out a cold lunch for the three of us. I wouldn't normally ask you to join us, but I couldn't possibly keep you away from my uncle since you obviously hold him in such respect, so we shall eat together and then I'll introduce you to all the mechs and explain your duties later. The kitchen is that way.” She indicated.

Lord Heversham sat down, and waited until he was quite sure Aurilla was out of earshot.

“Not at the war,” he observed. “Not physically injured. Mentally?”

Harriet nodded. “Correct.”

“Poor woman. She has my utmost sympathy.”

“I know,” said Harriet soberly. “Mine too. Still, I think she's going to be excellent. She is very bright, and she's comfortable with mechs.” She paused. “Any idea how the war's going?”

“Good news. Tsar Arkadii has finally joined us. That, I believe, will decisively tip the balance.”

“What about his grandmother?” asked Harriet, knowing that the Dowager Empress had been a hostage for some time in enemy hands.

“Dead. Probably of natural causes, since it was in the enemy's interest to keep her alive in order to keep a hold on Arkadii; however, she is now definitely known to be dead, and Arkadii is not the sort of man to forgive anyone who kidnaps one of his family, even one he frankly didn't like.”

“Yes, from what you've told me about Tsar Arkadii, he does not sound like a man to mess around with,” Harriet agreed. She knew that her uncle had met him a couple of times.

“Oh, dear me, no. However, the positive side of that is that once he decides he likes you, he definitely likes you. He is very... how shall I say?... black and white.”

And he likes you, thought Harriet; and that, at the bottom line, is probably the reason he's prepared to come and fight alongside England. Oh, of course there will be a whole list of other political considerations, but diplomacy still has a great deal to do with personalities, for all of that.

Captain Aurilla reappeared after a few minutes. “Lunch is ready,” she announced.

They followed her through into the dining room, with its inlaid sheesham-wood table sent over from Lucknow, a wedding present from Pradhi's family. There was a cold tongue, which Harriet set about carving without further ado. Aurilla hesitated, obviously unsure about being allowed to sit down yet, and Lord Heversham took advantage of this to walk quietly up to her.

“I understand you were invalided out of the military, Captain,” he said.

She nodded. “I was, my lord.”

“I was, as I said earlier, never in the military; but I did serve for many years with British Intelligence. I... believe I may well understand where you are.”

She gave him a long, searching look. “You too, my lord?” she asked, at last.

“Almost. They never actually invalided me out. Fortunately, I was made Ambassador before that became a serious issue. But, nonetheless...”

She smiled. “Thank you for telling me, my lord. You encourage me greatly.”

“That was my intention. Now, sit down. You are invited to join us for lunch, so don't stand around.” He returned her smile.

Mad, thought Harriet. No. Not mad. Mentally injured, yes, but no more mad than my uncle is.

Very soon, Captain Aurilla, we'll work out a better word for that.


End file.
